


I dont't know if this one is about Me or the Devil

by Kladdis



Category: Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Joseph Seed is a liar, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Tough Love, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kladdis/pseuds/Kladdis
Summary: "Until she sat with bleeding wrists and dry eyes, the darkness kept away with the pure force of her anger and understood that she should have starved."The Judge still remembered their time in the bunker.





	I dont't know if this one is about Me or the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> tbh, the deputy is only female 'cause I didn't want to have to deal with two male pronouns every time the dep and joseph are together in a scene
> 
> the title is from the song 'The Judge' by Twenty One Pilots, which felt apt

The camp was never quiet.  
Even at the latest possible hour, just before the sun kissed the horizon and turned the world bloody red for a horrendous few seconds again, people were milling around. Some, that the Judge may have known in another life, chose to drink and 'socialize'. Their slurring voices filtered through the walls and reached the Judge's silent perch, where they kept watch on the dirt road leading from and to the camp.

The Father had sent them here for violence, but the Judge knew to protect too.   
They picked at the pink flowers they had collected today while out with the Captain. A truly special man, just like Father had said. The Captain was ruthless with his enemy's and kind to his friends, always a cocky smirk on his face. The Judge recognizes a lot in that man.

They gently rip a welting petal from their flowers, holding it up to the wooden mask covering their face to try and discern a smell.

When they inhale, they choke on the ash of burning wood and flesh, the sweet odor of evaporating blood. They smell the stale air of the bunker, the sweat of two humans conserving water and the slowly decaying body of Duke, rotting somewhere. The person the Judge used to be had never quite dared to ask where the body was.

They choke on the guilt still clogging in their throat, on the knowledge that _they_ survived.  
And for a second, they are back there again, inside that bunker.

Chained to that stupid fucking shelf, the smell of rot still heavy in the air. Just months after the bombs dropped.

Oh, how angry they had been back then. How they spit and hissed at the Father, rattled their chains until their hands bled. Back when they still owned the title of 'Deputy', back when they were still a person.

 

Her hands were bleeding again, her eyes dry with thousands of tears shed. Most of anger and frustration and never when Joseph could see.

She could feel the demons nipping at her heels, the unfathomable truth just at the edge of her being, kept at bay with just the force of her anger, pushed back with every hoarse scream, every drop of blood from her wrists.

He fed her. It was humiliating, the most degrading thing the Deputy had ever done. She had resisted at first like she had resisted everything else, but her spirit was mere waves breaking against the stone of Joseph's resolve. 

So he brought her food, in regular intervals that she later learned was once a day, held up a piece of jerky or a spoon filled with beans and weathered her wrath, her kicks, and attempts at biting him.  
He hated her, she could see it in his eyes. He hated that she survived and his family hadn't. He hated that she can look straight into his eyes with pride because she killed them.

She had _destroyed_ him.

And she reminded him every time she refused to eat, refused to bow to him. But the hunger came like it always did. And she had severely underestimated it.

Starving is a funny little thing. On the one hand, food was given to her freely with just the insignificant little cost of her dignity. On the other hand, she had held out this long. What were a few more days?

And a weaker person might have crumbled when the hunger made her lose several hours, made her head split with a headache like a machine gun fired next to her ear. But she held out because the world was fucked. And maybe, maybe she'd starve.

Whatever lay in her future couldn't be pleasant.

But this is easy to think, easy to say in the quiet space when Joseph slept or prayed. But to have food before your eyes, it was torture beyond the Deputy's comprehension.

In the end, it had been all too easy to give up a piece of her dignity and eat out of Joseph's hand like a good little lap dog.

And it wasn't that far a step to allow Joseph to bath her with a sponge because what would a little less dignity really matter?

But she hadn't seen, hadn't realized that with each little insignificant permission she granted Joseph, she irrevocably gave away part of herself until nothing was left.

Until she sat with bleeding wrists and dry eyes, the darkness kept away with the pure force of her anger and understood that she should have starved.

The next day, when Joseph comes from the room he prays and sleeps in, he cleans her wounds and unchains her.

▲▼▲

The Judge silently crouches in a bush, eyes locked on the Captain sneaking into a Highwaymen camp. Their fingers gently stroking their bows string, taking mental note of the wind.

They were far enough from the action that a breeze could knock their arrow astray, so constant vigilance was required.

The Judge preferred to be closer to the action, to be down there, snapping necks and feeling the hearts of their enemy's bleed out in the same rhythm as the Judge's own, but the Captain had wanted them up here on the hillside, squeezed between the rocks and waiting for a sign. Or for the alarm to start summoning waves of Highwaymen, all ripe for the taking.

The Captain said the Judge was allowed to kill those.

A seemingly random hand-sign alerted the Judge and, as the Captain commanded, they took aim at a look-out on a wooden tower. The sniper in the look-outs hands turned useless quickly as the Judge's arrow landed true and the Captain could continue through the camp unchallenged. 

The Judge didn't allow themselves to feel pride for the kill, a sin long purged from their skin.

Another sin, another kill as the Judge felt the weary pull of the past, the need to relive something so ingrained in the Judge's being. The promise of pain that would surely follow the memory was what dragged them under, back into the murky waters. Maybe the freezing agony might someday abstain them of the guilt.

 

Life without chains had been surprisingly anticlimactic. She had always imagined that when the handcuffs fell away, she would battle for her life with a religious nut-job, slicing his jugular vein with a broken piece of glass and bathing in the blood while Joseph died a pathetic little death.  
But when he had freed her, the silence billowing between them, it had felt inappropriate to shatter it, to disrupted their locked gazes, two predators assessing each other.

She had let him clean her, never breaking eye contact.

She had waited for him to pounce, to finally kill her.

But he didn't.

When she realized that, she had thought something along the lines "Well if _he_ won't I should do it.” But the moment after the chains fell had passed and to now spring forward would be awkward. Wrong.

Joseph should be granted a worthy death, not because he deserved it, but because the Deputy needed his death to mean something, to signal the end of an era.

So she bid her time, waiting for the right moment, for the fates to align and the just opportunity to arise. She ate at his table and shared him in prayer, only because Joseph had decided that her newfound freedom should mean that she had to participate in his belief. And even if she decided not to come into his room by the time he started praying, he would scream loud enough that his voice echoed from the concrete walls, seeping through the tiniest cracks to wherever she was hiding.

It was easier to just attend his mass.

And it was at that very mass, the ninth she sat though, that the moment for Joseph's death came.

Joseph had gotten sloppy, the dagger he used to slice his sins into his flesh sitting forgotten on the little table by his bed. So when his back turned towards the wall where someday an altar out of vague thoughts and scribbled notes should hang, gazing through the walls to the door, the door that would surely open to hell on earth if ever touched, that she took the knife and brought it in a smooth and practiced motion to Joseph's head. 

In the last possible moment, he turned, dodging the knife by a mere breath and punched her in the stomach.

No amount of practice could keep a human from doubling over, eyes wide with shock and before the Deputy could react, Joseph rammed his elbow directly into the soft spot of her skull.

When she woke up she was chained again, black spots dancing in front of her eyes the only thing keeping her from screaming her rage into the world and pulling on the handcuffs like an entrapped animal.

She should have tried to sever her artery with the cuffs.

Joseph came back with pliers, his eyes colored a strange mixture of fondness, disappointment, and hate. "My Child," he said, gripping her cheeks hard enough to open her mouth. "Must you hurt me so? Your Father? You sin, again and again." Joseph pushed the unforgiving metal into her mouth and panic flooded her veins. She struggled against her bounds, the weak sting of old wounds reopening forgotten in the tidal wave of horror before her. "But I will help you, I will cleanse you."

Joseph pulled and her vision turned white.

She screamed past the pliers in her mouth, past the pain, and past the guilt. Still, she heard Joseph say:

"And for each sin, I shall take a tooth."

 

The alarms blared.

The Captain had been sighted and with his reputation, no one had hesitated in calling for backup. The Judge felt a little thrill go up their spine and their lip stretching into something like a smile while they cocked an arrow and took aim.

While the arrow flew and landed true, they had already grabbed another and prepared it. While they waited for a guard to leave cover and the Captain fought for his life, they ran their tongue over their gum, never meeting a tooth.

▲▼▲

In was later that very day, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and a rare silence had folded over the camp like a warm blanket, that the Judge stood in the common bathroom, for once blessedly empty.

As soon as the drinking and the celebration for another day survived started, someone would be in here, clogging the toilet with shit or puke.

It was a small time frame, but the Judge knew how to work with time frames. They had lived in New Eden, full with people devoted to Joseph's word but all too curious about what was under the mask.

So they hurried through the motions, a sponge bath for their mangled body, crouching naked in a corner, ready to hide if someone should enter, watching the bloody remains of today's work running down the drain. 

Putting on their clothes, body still wet with haste, always felt like relive, even if the mask had to stay off for a little while longer. Cleaning their mouth with water and toothpaste, gurgling the clear fluid that prevented infection, was unfortunately quite mandatory. The Judge had learned that lesson hard and well.

The mirror over the sink was a punishment.

The Judge was sure that Father, wherever he might be, was laughing at them now. For, in the great scale of things, it had not been long ago that they had smashed all the mirrors in the bunker and burnished everything reflecting.

He had humored them then, observing them with the exasperated eyes of a Father obliging his child. They had hated those eyes, the Judge remembered. Had seen the fondness in them and saw pity. Maybe it had been pity, back then. The Judge hadn't _changed_ their Father yet.

What bleak days it had been, the Judge thought and met their eyes in the mirror.

 

The Deputy stared at the mirror, trying to overlook her sunken cheeks where teeth were supposed to stretch the flesh and her sickly pale skin.

It had been almost three years since the bombs fell and only one year since Joseph stopped leaving the cuffs hanging on their usual spot, forever taunting her, and put them in a drawer.

She let her fingertips roam her face, gracing her nose, her cheekbones, her brow. The flesh felt dead.

Joseph leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, visibly shouting his disapproval. He didn't need to say _vanity is a sin, my child_ , completely misinterpreting what she was doing. He thought that she marveled at her new form, at the revelation written across her skin. But he was wrong. This wasn't vanity, it was _mourning_.

“I need a mask,” she said. In the shadows of the mirror, she saw ghosts.

Joseph sighed. Even before he spoke, she knew his answer. “I will not give you something to hide behind.”

She narrowed her eyes, poison in her voice. “You doubt my conviction?”

Joseph frowned. He didn't look disapproving but like standing before a puzzle he couldn't solve. The Deputy knew that she was that puzzle because she knew Joseph better than he knew her. Because he had never tried to know her, had only imitated all that he said to his usual sheep, completely forgetting that she was a wolf. Because he couldn't grasp her faith, her way of worship. He didn't know what she was worshiping for he never saw the depth of her guilt.

Joseph didn't stop her when she marched into the kitchen and he stood by while she cut her our tongue out. He cauterized the wound when she couldn't move from the pain, tremors rocking her body. He nursed her back to health, sitting at her side with the same contemplating face, so close to the puzzle's solution.

It was when he presented her with a wooden mask, colored white with waterproof stain, that his eyes widened with understanding apprehension and awe.

He fastened the mask in place and stared at the surface with astonishment. He gripped her head with the sudden urge of a revaluation, the corners of the mask pressing into his skin.

He smiled.

 

Someone banged against the door. “Open up! I need to shit!”

The Judge flinched. Well, more in a way of slowly blinking back into reality, like from a pleasant dream. They quickly fastened the mask, their hands pressing into the edges, wishing they were sharp.

When they pulled up the hood from their furred coat, the door opened, revealing just a fast blur past on the way to the toilet. The Judge thought it might have been the Captain. Reaching sounds from the toilet disproved his earlier claim.

▲▼▲

Timber the dog was very curious. It liked to sneak up on the Judge and initiate a surprise cuddle. Even at very inopportune moments, like scouting an enemy camp.

Luckily, this time they were back at Prosperity because the Captain had chosen to take the bear out. Judge hoped that was only a euphemism, not that the Captain would either want to assassinate or adopt a wild bear. Truly, one pet bear was one too many for one life.

Timber rubbed itself along the Judges chest, yipping and waggling its tail like they wanted to take off. The Judge could feel themselves smile as they began aggressively petting Timber.

The dog clearly was in heaven.

“Having fun?” asked a voice from above. The Judge stopped petting Timber, all to the dismay of the dog, and slowly looked up to their least favorite person in this camp.

Gina stood in front of them like she would stand behind a podium, declaring war. “We need to have a talk, you and I.”

The Judge slowly rose, brushing their hands off on their pants. They nodded.

“Listen. I know what shit you've been through, you heard what I've been through. It's fucked up but we can't change that. Just accept it and move on, so we can all have a bit of peace from the brooding.”

The Judge frowned. Gina couldn't visibly see that, but the Judge knew that their whole body frowned with their face. And by her now crossed arms and stormy expression, she had noticed that.

“You want to pay so bad, don't you? You want to hurt and you keep hurting yourself because you think that this is your fault? That this is your penance? Well, boohoo but we all have our demons to face. What happened, happened. You can't change that, you just have to live with that,” she said. The Judge couldn't help themselves, they flinched, their hand reflexively reaching for the safety of their mask. Gina noticed that, with eyes focused on their hand like a laser.

“And if you need a mask to do that, fine. But at least be honest with yourself. Is this stupid piece of wood hurting you or is it actually helping you?” She pointed directly at their forehead. “Because I think this is just another thing to hurt you. And I think it's time you stopped hurting yourself for things that were not your fault and start trying to make amends.

You don't need forgiveness from some God. You need forgiveness from the people. And let me say it here and only once. I forgive you.”

It was said with such force that the Judge needed a moment to process what Gina was saying. And when it hit, the Judge's eyes widen and the world stopped for a moment. 

Then they exhaled and the birds started singing again and the wind blew warm over Prosperity. The Judge thought this might be a good moment to cry. But their tears had long since run out, so they just turned away, back to Gina and facing the sinking sun.

Two people forgiving them was nothing against the millions who had paid the price, who could not forgive. But it soothed their broken soul a little, running over the cracks and tears like warm wax. Not enough to close rifts, but a start.

The guilt will never leave.

The Judge thought they had accepted that. Had thought the constant pain was just a result of that pit inside of them. Repenting was never to erase that guilt, but to ease it. Make bearing it another day easier.

But maybe, just maybe, the Judge could find that ease in forgiveness and not in pain. The guilt would never leave and the penance never stop, but maybe.

The Judge closed their eyes, their head back and feeling the warmth of the sun through their mask. Maybe the war inside them, raging since the world burned, could finally come to an end.

The world inside their head would be forever scarred, but maybe it was okay to plant new seeds in the dead soil. Maybe it was okay to hope that someday, in the distant future they may have forgiven themselves. 

And, for hopefully the last time for a long while, the Judge opened their eyes and let themselves _remember_.

 

The door to the outside world had haunted them into their dreams. As soon as Father had suggested going to the surface first, the nightmares had started. Faces, long losing their features, screaming at them from the dark. It had made them crawl to their Father, begging him to wake.

He always would, taking them into his arms, gently rocking them. He would whisper about his God, cleverly put on par with the monster inside them called guilt. The Father had learned that about them, so long ago.

And that knowledge had shaken him, the level of conviction they had for their guilt had shocked him. And then he had understood, and with that had come change.

He had seen his followers and had recognized that he had made a clear difference between sheep and family. Had seen how he had divided his people with his actions. Had seen how the only logical conclusion to that could have been revolt.

As he saw the weight of his actions in their eyes, he had truly understood his people's pain and he had grown.

It had been such a beautiful process; they couldn't miss witnessing it. Like watching a plant grow, the Father had grown, twisting out of his shell, ripping flesh from old wounds. It had been a violent, beautiful revelation.

That day, when then cocoon fell and the Father appeared, they had sworn themselves to him. No out loud but in their mind, a most powerful bond forged in the searing heat of war.

That conviction had drawn them closer together. He needed them to look past the mask, into their eyes and see his own guilt reflected up back at him. To affirm that after all, he was still human. And they needed him to see their own monster, their own soul, caged in the confines of their rips, pacing along the bones.

Sometimes they felt sadness when they saw the crippled and corrupted wolf, the growth of stone and scab clumping in its fur, remembering the days that wolf ran free, healthy. Sometimes they felt a deep satisfaction because they paid. They pay.

This time, in front of that cursed door, they only felt abandonment when they looked at that wolf. And when they rose their head to meet Joseph's gaze, there was loss in those eyes.

They would leave him.

They had raged and argued, in their own way, when Father had first suggested them to go up to the surface alone. He had promised that it was safe again, that the radiation was gone. Despite the years they have spent together, he still reads them wrong. 

They had thrown out a hand, between him and them and he had understood.

“I need to continue my exile. I still need to learn the ways of God anew. I can't lead my children when my head is full of doubt” he had said, taking their hands in his.

In the end, like always, he had won that argument.

So they were to go to the surface alone, find the remaining flock and kept them safe until the Father could return.

Their hands shook.

“Don't worry, my child. Nothing will happen to me here” he said. They could just shake their head. Wrong again. The Father started again. “You fear for yourself, in the outside world. I will give you one lesson.”

The Father caught their eye again, holding their gaze strong. "The guilt will never leave," he said it, timber shaking. "The guilt will never leave and penance never stop."

He took one cheek into his hand, the mask's edges pressing into his skin. “Never stop paying penance.”

They nodded.

The Father sighed, his shoulder slagging in relieve and his hands falling. They pretended not to miss the touch. Not so close to a Goodbye.

“Then, from this day forward, you shall be called the Judge. For you are my will and my conscious. Be my hand, the Father's hand and be my Judge.”

The Judge turned away from the Father, back to him and facing the door. Rust and weather had tried to break through but it still stood steady, opening for the Judge with just a little force. They didn't turn back when they ascended the last step.

“My Child,” Father said. The Judge couldn't bear to turn around. “I forgive you.”

Those words, spoken from that mouth, should mean something. But they did nothing, nothing in the face of that void inside them, that void inside the world where before life was. So they began their travels to find the last of the Father's flock and prepare them for the arrival. They would protect them and then when the Father's use of them ended, they would continue their search until every soul that they had damned were repented.

Until penance was earned, they would pay.

▲▼▲

Back here, standing in the water, watching the Father's lifeless body glide to the ground, the Judge felt as if that should mean something as well. They thought that surely a tear would be appropriate now. But the Father, Joseph had died like everyone else. Silently and without reward.

And the Judge stayed behind.

They knelt down, letting their hand run through the streaming cold water. A few pink petals caught in their fingers, flush with health and life.

That something this beautiful, this alive existed, even with their faults and mistakes, that had to mean something, right?

Maybe Gina's forgiveness could be enough, maybe it was time to let Joseph go?

“Are you okay?” asked the Captain. He had a kind face. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

“Heeh,” she said and it meant I'll be fine.

And for the first time in a long, long while, that sounded no longer like a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> and to be extra honest, I never played the games o/


End file.
